


And Now For Something Completely Different

by Ryan_Writes



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 14:42:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14718056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryan_Writes/pseuds/Ryan_Writes
Summary: Written in response to a challenge: rewrite any classic horror tale as a Potter tale.Disclaimer: I am probably going to hell for writing thisWarnings: PG-13 for language, strong hints, spooky ghosts,smarmy narrators, and the use of Avadra Kedavra on an unarmed opponent.





	And Now For Something Completely Different

'Twas a dark and stormy night, this All Hallows Eve, and far past the bedtime of the Gryffindor students huddled 'round the fireplace. However, it was Friday night, and even Hermione agreed that homework might be postponed for a few hours in honor of the holiday. The intrepid band of friends had stayed up, gorging themselves on sweets (certain of them were already moaning with what promised to become fierce tummy-aches) and recounting horrific stories (Ginny admitted she planned to sleep with the lights on, and several of the boys looked as if they might like to do so as well).

"Oy, let's have a Muggle tale," Fred mumbled around a mouthful of Every-flavor beans. All eyes turned toward the Muggle-born and Muggle-raised Gryffindors.

Neville looked anxious. "What sort of stories do Muggles tell at Halloween?" he asked, glancing at Harry. "I mean, we don't want to scare ... Ginny ... any more, do we?"

"I could tell you about the time Aunt Petunia made Dudley model his swimsuit for us," Harry suggested with a shudder. "That was pretty scary."

"Nah, I got just what we need," said Seamus. He pulled his chair closer to the fire and leaned in.

Ginny, her nerves already frazzled by the evening's events, and up far past her normal bedtime, found herself fighting to stay awake. The warm fire made her drowsy, and Seamus' soft voice mesmerized her.

"This happened long ago," he murmured. "In a lonely village in the American colonies, there lived a quiet, timid schoolteacher and the woman he loved from afar ..."

The commons room faded away, but the story continued.

****

The tavern is full this All Hallows Eve. The good townspeople of Sleepy Hollow are celebrating the holiday before going home to bed. Hardworking, simple people, these farmers and merchants, happy to have an excuse to stop by the tavern, to lift a few pints, to stagger home in the wee hours of the morning singing "I'll Take You Home Again, Kathleen" at the tops of their lungs.

The room is abuzz with conversation as the honest people share the events of their simple lives with one another. Lovely barmaid Hermione van Tassel dances between the tables to keep up with the drink requests. Her thick mane of tangled curls catches the firelight - and the eyes of fully half the men in the room.

Even now, elegant Lucius van Brunt-Malfoy, the richest man in the county, captures her hand as she trips lightly past his table. His even, pearly teeth flash in a grin as he tugs the fair Hermione toward him. She only laughs and whirls away, her eyes sparkling.

"Come sir," she says saucily, "what have you done to prove yourself worthy of my affection?"

Van Brunt-Malfoy smirks, though in a stylish manner, and brushes his silken mane away from his face. "And what task would you set me, fair wench?"

A cunning gleam comes into the lovely eyes. What woman does not dream of brave deeds by handsome knights, of desirable men competing for her favors? The room falls silent as the honest townsfolk sense a challenge in the making. Every eye turns upon the couple, upon the lovely Hermione and the elegant Van Brunt-Malfoy. Even Hagrid, the roughhewn but kindly bartender, pauses in the midst of drawing another pint to glance their way.

"I will only consent to court a truly brave man," the fair barmaid announces loudly. There are some muffled snickers from the crowd at this, for it is well known throughout the village that the schoolteacher --- a man so timid that he fears to walk home alone once darkness has fallen --- yearns for the love of the fair Hermione.

"The man I will bestow my favors upon should ..." Hermione pauses in thought, one slender finger touching lightly upon her luscious red lips. A sigh sweeps across the room as the men of Sleepy Hollow imagine those lips touching theirs. The lovely barmaid seems to be having difficulty imagining a suitably heroic deed for her knight.

"Ye'd have to be right brave to walk to the Haunted Bridge at moonrise," Hagrid rumbles from behind the bar. His honest face flushes scarlet as his words echo in the silence, and he ducks his head with embarrassment. "I shouldna have said that!"

"No, it's perfect," the fair Hermione cries, clapping her hands with glee. Another sigh drifts across the room like a ripple. Even the elegant Lucius raises a stylish eyebrow and glances downward as the lovely barmaid bounces with excitement.

She speaks again. I will be courted by the man with courage enough to face the Horseman's Ghost! Whoever would win me must go this very night and remain on the bridge until the moon sets!"

As one man, the villagers turn to look at the wealthy Van Brunt-Malfoy, whose face pales nearly to the color of his silky hair. As he opens his mouth to reply, the tavern door creaks open, and every eye shifts eagerly to see what new development may appear.

There, in the doorway, thin shoulders stooped, hooked nose buried in a heavy book, stands the very embodiment of the lonely scholar. Black shirt fraying at the cuffs and elbows, ink stained fingers, scuffed boots, greasy hair dangling about his face --- shy and retiring Schoolmaster Ichabod Snape glances up from his tome to find the entire room staring at him. He swallows hard and lowers the book from in front of his face.

"Bloody hell!" he snaps. "What are you lot staring at me for NOW?!"

All eyes turn back to the elegant figure of Van Brunt-Malfoy, upon whose handsome face a wicked smile is growing. Lucius strides across the room.

"My dear Snape," he says in an oily voice. Snape draws back, but Van Brunt-Malfoy throws a velvet-clad arm across his shoulders and pulls him close, lowering his handsome face as if to confide a secret.

"We were just talking about you," Lucius continues. "The lovely Hermione has announced that she will court the man brave enough to face the Horseman's Ghost."

"Good for bloody her," Snape mutters, trying in vain to disentangle himself from Van Brunt-Malfoy's embrace Lucius pulls the hapless scholar closer and puts his lips next to Snape's ear.

"Of course," he says, "when the fair Hermione mentioned bravery ..." He smiles as the schoolmaster's face suddenly pales, as Snape realizes where this conversation is headed. Lucius glances around the room, as if to gather support from the simple, honest villagers. Another snicker is heard from the back of the room. Snape ducks out of Van Brunt-Malfoy's embrace and sidles toward the door.

"Surely," Lucius says, jerking Snape back to his side, "a man so ... knowledgeable ... as yourself would have no fear of phantom riders. And surely, to win the love of fair Hermione, a valiant man such as yourself would dare far worse ...."

Ichabod Snape looks deep into the handsome face bent over him. His thick eyebrows lower over hooded black eyes. He glances around the room in desperation, and clears his throat. Several times.

"Out of the question," he mumbles. "Papers to grade ... lessons to prepare ... I really must be heading home."

Van Brunt-Malfoy raises one elegant eyebrow in mock surprise. "But it's already dark!"

"Er ..." Snape glances at the window behind him. "Bloody hell, I forgot about that! Would you believe ..."

Lucius runs one manicured hand along Snape's stooped shoulders. "Whoever is going to walk you home if WE are all here waiting for Hermione's bold knight to return?"

Snape stares around the room, his thin shoulders hunched even further, as if in anticipation of a blow. He jerks free of Van Brunt-Malfoy's grasp and scuttles to the bar, head lowered.

"I need a drink," he mutters. "A large one."

Hagrid pulls an ale without speaking, then glances over Snape's head, a huge grin spreading across his simple face.

"Harry!" he calls, "Glad you finally made it into town! Guess what Schoolmaster Snape is gonna do ... oop! Shouldna have said that."

Young Harry van Potter, poor as a church mouse but determined to make his own way in the world, his face scarred by the same Indian arrows that had untimely taken the lives of his parents, hesitates in the doorway to the tavern. His honest face radiates bewilderment, for the elegant Van Brunt-Malfoy poses on one side of the doorway, obviously in the middle of taunting one of the simple villagers. But Harry can see no villager who seems upset enough to be the brunt of the wealthy man's ire. Surely the timid schoolmaster can have nothing to do with it.

"Snape?" he asks aloud,.

"Schoolmaster Snape, thank you very much," comes the soft reply from the bar. 

Snape drops his face into his hands. "Lovely," he mutters, "just lovely. Van Potter. My humiliation is complete. I can think of no further indignity that could befall me this night!"

Young van Potter shoots a hard glare at the figure hunched over the bar. "You've never forgiven me for leaving school to tend the farm," he snaps. "Just as you never forgave my father for stealing Lily away from you!"

"Careful, van Potter," Snape mutters, his black eyes glinting as he stares back across the room. "I am still your elder, and thus deserving of respect."

"Yes, van Potter," the elegant van Brunt-Malfoy says, polishing his manicured nails on his silk cravat. "You should respect the schoolmaster. After all, if he decides to spend the night at the Haunted Bridge, this may be the last time you will have the chance to show your respect."

"Bloody hell!" Snape mutters into his ale.

Harry's honest eyes widen in shock. "Why would Schoolmaster Snape...."

"Simple, van Potter," Lucius interrupts smoothly. "The lovely Hermione has vowed to court whichever man is brave enough to spend the night at the bridge and face the ghostly Horseman. And we all know that the love of Schoolmaster Snape for the fair Hermione is powerful enough to overcome any obstacle ...."

A hacking cough from the bar interrupts this speech. Van Brunt-Malfoy glares at Hagrid, who hurriedly pats Snape on the back and mops up the ale spewed over the countertop. Lucius turns back toward the door, but Harry is leaving.

"That's cruel, even for you," the honest lad says over one shoulder. "To force him into something you're not brave enough to do yourself."

"I?" Van Brunt-Malfoy raises one eyebrow, elegantly. "Who did you think was going to stand watch, to be certain he stays for the required time?"

"Well, I want no part in any of this," cries the noble young farmer. "I may dislike Schoolmaster Snape, but I'll not taunt a man for his faults." A snort from the bar rather ruins the effect of this brave speech, and Harry shakes his head and leaves the tavern, without even enjoying the pint he came in for.

Silence descends upon the homely room. The simple villagers stare from Lucius, elegantly leaning against the table, to the hunched form of the schoolmaster, tossing back a pint as though it were bitterest medicine. Back and forth the men of the village stare, from the table to the bar, from the handsome Van Brunt-Malfoy to the sallow Snape, until at last ....

"Bloody hell!" Snape slams his empty mug down onto the counter and rises. The villagers flinch at the sudden violence, and the lovely Hermione lets out a small but attractive squeal. She straightens from the corner table, where she has evidently been taking an order.

"If it is the wish of the village that I risk my life tonight," says the schoolmaster in a soft voice, "then I suppose I will make it so." He stands as upright as his years of stooping over a desk will allow him to, and tugs at the hem of his shirt.

The simple folk watch with open mouths as the timid schoolmaster crosses the room, hesitates at the doorway for a moment, then steps outside.

The fair Hermione runs gracefully toward the door, her masses of shining hair bouncing. Other bits bounce as well, causing yet another sigh to pass along the watching villagers. She reaches the side of the elegant van Brunt-Malfoy, and grabs his velvet lapels to haul his face down to hers.

"You complete moron!" she shouts, shaking him as hard as she can. The watching villagers wipe their mouths as the lovely barmaid's movements shake her own torso even harder than they shake his.

"Do you think I want that greasy git to court me?!" The fair maid releases her grip suddenly, hiding her lovely face in her hands. 

"I have feelings for another," she cries, "for someone I thought would be man enough to win me!"

The villagers perk up even further at this revelation. Hermione van Tassel turns back toward the table in the corner, the table she had been "waiting on" for the past ten minutes.

"Oh, Ron," she cries, "why can't you be a man and speak to my father?"

"Bloody hell!" says young Weasley, his face flaming as bright red as his hair. "I thought we were going to be discreet about it!"

"You stupid British ass, if the damn schoolmaster goes through with this damn plan, there won't be anything to be discreet about!"

Lucius clears his throat in an elegant manner, and all eyes turn to him. "Not to worry, dear, lovely Hermione," he assures her. "I have no intention whatsoever of letting Snape actually improve his standing in the community."

He snaps his fingers, and Crabbe and Goyle, his right- (and left-) hand men, bound to his side. "We'll just cut through the woods," Lucius says with a handsome smirk, "and frighten the greasy git out of his wits before he even gets to the bridge."

"Heh, you made a funny, boss," says Goyle, his big, ugly face lit up by a grin. "Git ... wit ... get ... that's funny!"

Van Brunt-Malfoy stares at the man in horror. "Shut up, Goyle."

As the door closes behind the sinister, but elegant, form of van Brunt-Malfoy and his two comrades, young Ron Weasley comes up to put an arm around the slender waist of the fair Hermione.

"I feel a bit sorry for the schoolmaster, to be honest," he says.

"You idiot!" Hermione retorts. "Get your cowardly ass out that door and be sure you're the one who spends the night at the bridge!"

"Er ... that is ... I ..."

"Just GO!" The lovely Hermione, her face flushed, shoves her erstwhile lover out the door and slams it shut behind him.

"So," she purrs, putting her back to the door and ignoring the pounding coming from without. "Who needs refills?"

***

Meanwhile, in the gloomy depths of the wild forest, Lucius van Brunt-Malfoy elegantly strides along an Indian trail. His henchmen force their way through the underbrush behind him. A disgusted expression hovers on the handsome face of the wealthy landowner.

"OK, let's try it once more," he says, rolling his eyes. "You two are going to hide at the bridge until you see the schoolmaster. Then, you will leap out of the shadows --- "

"With these sheets over us, right boss?"

"Good, Crabbe, with the sheets, yes. And scream as loudly as you can until Snape either passes out or runs gibbering with terror back to the village."

"We'll scare the gets out of the wit, all right."

"Shut up, Goyle."

Lucius moves gracefully along the trail, though he pauses now and then to be certain his hair still falls elegantly down his back, and that no leaves or twigs have clung to its silken strands. At the bridge, he helps Crabbe and Goyle drape the sheets spookily over their heads, then reminds them once more how to hide, and when to leap out screaming.

He then sets off down the road back to town, looking sharp to keep from missing the dark, hunched figure of the schoolmaster, who's probably moving as slowly as humanly possible --- if he's even truly headed for the bridge at all. Along the way, Lucius brushes a few leaves from his velvet coat, and checks to be sure no spatter of mud soils his boots.

Wait a moment ... Lucius is puzzled. He glances back towards the bridge. No sign of the schoolmaster. He peers towards town. The road is not that long, and he can see only the shadows of the trees overhanging it. Where is the blasted schoolmaster?

"Snape!" he calls loudly.

"Oh, bloody HELL, what now?!" comes a muffled voice from the undergrowth.

"What do you think you're doing? Where are you? I can't see a thing in this damn forest! And ... are you eating something?"

The hunched figure of the schoolmaster slinks from the brush to one side of the road, wiping his mouth with the back of one ink-stained hand. "If you must know," he says, swallowing several times, "I was ... ah ... hiding."

Lucius raises an elegant eyebrow, and glances toward the dark undergrowth.

Snape flinches, and looks at the ground. "Nobody said I had to stand out in the middle of the road," he mutters. "And I found some ... wild berries. I always eat when I'm nervous."

"Wild berries," van Brunt-Malfoy's eyebrow rises even higher.

"Um ... yeah."

"It's October."

"True."

"This is New York."

"Ah ... so it is."

"They're predicting snow tomorrow."

"Whatever. Are we going to look for this bloody ghost or stand around here arguing about the local climate?"

Giving the brush a final suspicious glance, van Brunt-Malfoy turns towards the bridge. At that instant, from the direction of the river, comes a bloodcurdling scream.

"Oh, bloody hell!" mutters Lucius, elegantly.

Ichabod Snape raises one black eyebrow and stares at van Brunt-Malfoy speculatively. "That sounds rather like the scream of a loyal, but none-too-bright henchman," he suggests.

Another shriek, in a slightly deeper voice.

"And his cohort," adds the schoolmaster.

"Shut up, Snape."

The two men hurry along the road toward the bridge. Moonlight stripes the roadway, but the shadows of overhanging trees are as black as the devil's heart. As they round the bend, both of them halt in horrified amazement. The senseless bodies of Crabbe and Goyle, white sheets shining in the moonlight, lie stretched across the road at the foot of the bridge.

The black opening of the covered bridge looms over the roadway. Though the moon is almost full, no light penetrates into that darkness. And emerging from that horrid doorway is a horse, a horse as black as the opening itself, so that at first, all they can see are the eyes glowing red as flame. Phosphorescent lather drips from the cruel bit in the undead mouth. And on the fell beast's back, a rider even more terrifying to behold.

The gruesome specter of a man long-dead, his countenance the lifeless gray of a corpse, sits atop the dark horse. His garments are blood-spattered and torn, the clothing of an era long-past. In one hand, he bears a lantern, it's glass cracked and dark.

"What the bloody hell?" Lucius strides angrily toward the fearsome specter, one hand elegantly perched on his hip. 

"Now see here," he demands. "What do you think you're ..."

With a horrid cry, the ghost flings up its hand and sends the lantern sailing towards the silken head of Lucius van Brunt-Malfoy. It connects with a horrid "thunk."

"Ow," whimpers van Brunt-Malfoy, wilting gracefully to the roadway. His body gives one small twitch, into a slightly more elegant position, then moves no more.

The evil emissary from beyond the grave now turns its foul attention to the hapless figure of the schoolmaster. Poor, timid man, now facing such horror alone, his braver companion felled by supernatural powers beyond his ken. The gaunt, black figure stands frozen for a long moment, his eyes glinting, then ---

"By Salazar Slytherin's monstrous trouser snake, I have had QUITE enough of this nonsense!"

Er ... sorry? *ahem* I mean ...

The timid scholar rallies his courage and shouts defiance at the gruesome phantom. He raises one arm and ---

"I am not shouting at that ridiculous apparition, I am shouting at you --- whoever the sodding hell you think you are! Now stop that bloody annoying, smarmy voice-over before I Kedavra you!"

. . . . . 

"And you! Yes you, on the rabid equine! What in the name of Merlin's flea-bitten, floor-length beard are you supposed to be?"

"Erm ... I am ... *ahem* ... I AM THE NEARLY-HEADLESS HORSEMAN! COWER BEFORE ME, MORTAL FOOL, FOR I ---"

"Nearly headless?! What kind of bloody spook is nearly headless?"

"Oh, I bleedin' like that! What, you think I asked the executioner, 'Please, sir, could you just take a few wild swings with a dull ax and see if you can manage to sever my spinal cord on the third or fourth go'?"

"Hmmm ... point taken, I suppose. But why are you haunting a covered bridge?"

"Oh. Well, it's the Headless Hunt tonight, and I told Nigel I'd have a go at it so he could be there ..."

"Nigel being the actual ghost who is actually supposed to be haunting this structure? The one who actually belongs on the back of that animal? You should take in the stirrups a notch or two, by the way, before you fall off."

"Bloody hell! I thought the narrator said you were shy and retiring!"

"The narrator is a pompous prick. Plus he's dead wrong."

"Could you at least stop hiking that bloody eyebrow up at me like that? It sends shivers right down my spine."

"Sorry. Wasn't aware you even had a spine, actually. But as to the topic at hand, don't you have other things to haunt ... or something? I mean, it's not very likely, but some innocent soul could wander past ..."

"Schoolmaster Snape, you're still alive --- oh, sweet Jesus, what is that thing?!"

"Weasley? What in the name of all the Elder Gods are you doing out here? I thought you'd be at your usual table in the tavern, ogling the fair Hermione. And that is the gracefully senseless body of the wealthy Lucius van Brunt-Malfoy."

"Oy, you don't have to kick him so hard! And I rather meant the huge, glowing horse and the bloody corpse riding it."

"Ah. That, Mr. Weasley, is a substitute ghost. Pay no attention to it, just as you pay no attention when you have a substitute teacher."

"Erm ... right. Not to be impertinent or anything, but ... why are you the only one who hasn't fainted?"

"Really, Mr. Weasley, try to use your brains for once. Crabbe and Goyle are obviously the only ones who fainted, since their mental capacities are so limited as to be incapable of withstanding the shock of having their preconceptions challenged."

"O --- K ---"

"Don't take it hard, lad, I didn't understand him, either. But I can tell you those two took one look at me, screamed like women, and collapsed. It was the finest moment of my ... er ... life."

"Lovely, a ghost is talking to me, I'm standing by a haunted bridge in the middle of the night, I never got my ale ... I'm not certain the fair Hermione is really worth all this. What about van Brunt-Malfoy --- oy, quit kicking him, will you?!"

"Lucius was beaned by a lantern. Nice shot, by the way."

"Thank you, I'm sure. Er ... if you don't need me for anything, do you mind if I go. It's not as if I enjoy standing around in my ectoplasm, you know."

"You may certainly do whatever you wish. I assure you that neither Mr. Weasley nor myself have any interest in your ectoplasm."

"Snape, are you OK? Wow, there really IS a ghost! All right, then, Ron?"

"All right, Harry. Where'd you come from?"

"Hiding in the bushes. Yourself?"

"Hermione made me come!"

*snerk* "Snape did the same to me. Whoa, that's wicked the way that thing just dissolves into the shadows like that, innit?"

"Uh ... Harry ... ?"

"Yeah, Ron?"

"We just saw an actual ghost, with actual dead body parts, and an actual glowing-eyed zombie horse."

"Yeah, wicked, wasn't it?"

"To tell the truth ... NO, IT WASN'T! It was downright spooky! How can you just stand there with that shit-eating grin on your face and --- "

"Cock-eating grin, actually. Sorry, you were saying?"

"I ... I ... bloody hell, what WAS I saying?"

"Nothing of particular import, I can assure you, Mr. Weasley. Don't you have places you'd rather be?"

"I ... erm ... WAIT JUST A BLOODY MINUTE! You two are supposed to despise each other! Schoolmaster Snape has never forgiven you for leaving school, remember, Harry? And what about Harry's dad taking away your girl?"

"Actually, Lily Evans and I were never ... ah ... 'an item,' Mr. Weasley. The truth is, I was involved with Sirius van Black, before he disappeared into the West with that bloody Daniel Boone."

"Meh. But ... but ... you and Harry? Oh, good Lord, Harry, wipe that grin off your face, I'm starting to feel sick! You pair of pervy posers!"

"Really, Mr. Weasley, do you use your brain at all? Harry and I must pretend to hate one another, just as I pretend an interest in the fair Hermione so that the simple villagers do not wonder at my predilection for perambulation along a certain country lane ... nor, indeed, my habit of loitering in the local tavern on market day."

"Bloody hell. What in God's name did he just say?"

"He said everybody thinks he's chasing after Hermione .---"

"That's The Fair Hermione."

"Whatever. So long as everybody thinks Snape ---"

"Schoolmaster Snape."

"Bloody hell, will you two quit interrupting?! So long as the village thinks the schoolmaster is pining for the barmaid, nobody notices that he's actually taking long walks down the road leading to my farm. Plus we meet in the tavern when I bring my crops to town."

"That makes sense .... NO , IT DOESN'T, dammit! Everybody in the village knows that Schoolmaster Snape is so bloody timid he won't even walk home alone after dark ... but he came out here to the Haunted Bridge so that the fair Hermione will agree to court him! Let's see you explain that one!"

"MISTER Weasley, please. A grown man ... afraid of the dark, indeed. Surely you've wondered why so many of the students volunteer to 'walk me home.'"

"Well, honestly, I didn't think Draco van Brunt-Malfoy actually needed any ... extra credit ... oh, blow me, I'm a right wanker, aren't I?"

"I'll blow you, Ron, if Snape doesn't want to. Hermione doesn't have to know."

"Well, I ... what am I saying? No ... just ... NO! Pervy farmer! And neither of you have explained why Snape is wants to court the fair Hermione!"

"I am not, nor have I ever been, interested in Miss van Tassel, I assure you. I came out here because I thought Mr. van Potter and myself might have a little PRIVACY. It never occurred to me than the road to the haunted bridge would become a veritable parade-ground. Tomorrow, I had planned to 'confess' that I passed out from sheer fright before I even got to the bridge, thus leaving the way open for you to court the fair Hermione."

"So ... you didn't know that van Brunt-Malfoy --- Oy, that left a boot-print, that did! --- you didn't know that they were planning to watch and be sure you actually showed up at the bridge?"

"Had I known, Mr. Weasley, I assure you I would have chosen a better spot for my little rendezvous with Mr. van Potter. Perhaps the Town Square would have been more private."

"Ooh, that could be fun!"

"Shut up, van Potter, if you expect me to ... conclude ... our previous business. Now, Mr. Weasley, if I might suggest --- and rather quickly, as it appears that Mr. van Brunt-Malfoy might be coming around ---"

"Oy, he'd likely come 'round quicker if you'd stop kicking him in the head!"

"True. Be that as it may, I suggest that you, Mr. Weasley, arrived upon the scene to find four senseless bodies sprawled in the roadway with the ghost preparing to do its worst."

"Right. Erm ... four?"

"Oh, great Merlin! I intend to imitate an unconscious state, Mr. Weasley. You will 'rescue' us by frightening away the ghost --- you might consider using the religious medal I see around your neck ---"

"Hey, my mum gave me this!"

"Whatever. The point is, you will end up a hero, the fair Hermione will at last allow you to court her, and Mr. van Brunt-Malfoy will suffer a splitting headache for the next week. All in all, a satisfactory outcome. I will, of course, pretend to be heartbroken for some short time, then I believe my attentions will shift to the lovely milkmaid, Nevilla."

"Doesn't she own that dairy just past the van Potter farm?"

"I hadn't noticed."

"But what about Harry?"

"Harry? Harry was never here, Mr. Weasley, and you and I ... never had this conversation."

"But ... I ... OY, that was my shin you just kicked!"

"Do tell."

....

.... *ahem*

Silence falls upon the dark roadway. Young Ron Weasley, clutching his injured leg, prods carefully at the elegantly limp body of Lucius van Brunt-Malfoy. The dark figure of the schoolmaster lies crumpled on the verge, only the barest movement of the chest showing that he yet breathes. But wait, the scholar's eyes flicker open. His black eyes lift heavenward, and his thin lips part.

"WHAT did I tell you about that voice-over? AVADA KEDAVRA!"

*****

"Oy, Ginny, you OK? You fell right out of the chair! Lucky you didn't hit your head on the grate."

"Um ..." Ginny looked around her in some confusion. "A nightmare ... I think ... it was so real!"

She focused on the familiar faces of her friends as they leaned over her in concern. "It was ... a place. And you ... and you ... and YOU were there!" She ignored the good-natured giggles of the other Gryffindors.

"Heh --- must have been a nightmare if ickle Ronnie-kins was in it!"

"Shut up, Fred!"

"All right," Hermione announced in a no-nonsense voice. "I think it's really time we were all in bed. Ginny's not the only one who's exhausted. And some of you have Quidditch practice tomorrow afternoon."

Heartfelt groans from all on the team. Ginny rubbed her eyes and looked around the room. Ron sprawled in his usual armchair, in the corner closest to the door. He was sleepily watching Hermione gather up their party debris (so that the house elves wouldn't have as much work to do). Ron had an odd expression on his face. Ginny felt her heart thump alarmingly: her brother ... and Hermione? That was just silly!

She accepted Harry's hand up, and gave a huge yawn. Her outstretched arm bumped Harry's, and he dropped the book he'd held. There was a brief but intense shuffle to keep anything from landing in the fireplace.

"Sorry, Harry. Wait, this paper slipped out. I hope it isn't your homework, I'm afraid I stepped on it."

"Heh. Just scribbles. Trying to learn shorthand." He crumpled the bit of parchment and tossed it onto the coals.

Ginny stared sharply at his face. Surely it was only the firelight which made it look so very red. She smiled, said her goodnights, and headed upstairs to the girls' dorm. Suddenly, a very strange thought passed through her mind, and she turned back towards the room.

That bit of parchment ... Ginny knew nothing of shorthand, and not much more about Harry. But that paper had looked like nothing so much as a page in her diary --- the page where she'd written "Mrs. Harry Potter" in every variation she could come up with. Harry's bit of parchment, his "shorthand," had looked to Ginny like the letter "S" written in different handwriting styles.

Ginny watched Harry settle himself back into the armchair beside the fire. He stared into the coals as if daydreaming, his eyes half-lidded. His index finger traced the outline of the faint smile on his lips. She was right, he was thinking of someone in particular.

Now who did she know whose name started with "S"?


End file.
